Marianela Medrano

Marianela Medrano is a counselor and Dominican writer living and practicing in Stamford, CT. She writes poetry, essays, and creative non-fiction; with publications including essays and four books of poetry.

Shifting from the laptop screen my eyes glance at the family of cardinals landing on the deck, one after the other, forming a red line, to then disperse in a disorderly manner. Their perky crests sticking up proudly, chests open, confidently pecking the seeds stuck between the boards, while a few finches dance their way around the openings in the hanging feeder. I push the computer aside to give the birds my undivided attention. A family of blue jays, five of them, arrives, and the cardinals fly away. The blue jays establish supremacy, and the finches too depart. One blue jay ventures so close to the glass door that I can see how the blue darkens in a circle around the neck, the wings and tail spotted with white and light blue. In the distance, I hear other jays singing out their dominant call. The visiting jay finds its way around, hopping from one end of the deck to the other, until a red-bellied woodpecker bullies it away. Not content with pecking at the suet feeder hanging to the left, the woodpecker flits to the cylinder feeder, and once again chases away the finches, who had ever so stubbornly returned. I look in ecstasy at the gleaming red cap, the slender body and the long beak and feast on the privilege of my seat.

As psychologist and author Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi puts it, creativity is a central source of meaning in our lives. It is “a process by which a symbolic domain in the culture is changed. New songs, new ideas, new machines are what creativity is about.” Everything in our surroundings is the result of inventiveness, of creativity. Csikszentmihalyi’s idea is that the creative process emerges in five steps: preparation, incubation, insight, evaluation and elaboration.

After morning yoga I walk to my car, conscious of every step. I look down at the muddy path, my clogs stepping firmly, yet gently, on the soft ground, knowing that the moment is precious and feeling the interconnection of breath and step. The rain falls discretely on my curls, and the scent of lavender rising from my wet hair awakens me even more. I take a deep breath, and direct my attention towards the softness beneath my feet, the fresh air on my face, and the warm fleece against my skin. A blue jay lands two trees ahead of me and flies away before I invade its space, but the blue remains inscribed in my mind. The memory of a therapeutic writing group I led a few years ago for elders rushes into my awareness, perhaps because of our frequent writing about the wonders of nature.

In order to understand others, says Vietnamese Buddhist Monk Thich Nhat Hanh, “we have to feel their feelings, suffer their sufferings, and enjoy their joy.” The quote by this brilliant and yet so-humble monk, brings me to reflect on what it means to truly “understand” and “hear” in counseling. It also invites me to pause and consider how important it is for us to take care of ourselves—professionally and personally, as in the airlines’ advice, “to put our own oxygen mask on before we help vulnerable ones around us.” The real work has to be done with us first, then, and only then, are we prepared to walk the walk with others.